Stuck in the Elevator
by FalconHorror
Summary: What if Crane & Rachel had gotten stuck in the elevator on their way to the basement at Arkham? Not what you think NO sloppy romance. Strange humour.
1. Chapter 1: The Trouble with Rachel

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Stuck in the Elevator

Introduction: This is my first story here; I've been a long- time reader but I've just never had the time to write any stories of my own. This one is based on plot that was borrowed from the movie. Some dialogue & scenes have been changed from the movie.

Warning: Some strange humour. Kind of silly, but not what you think (i.e. sloppy romance).

Reviews of any kind are welcome: the good, the bad & the ugly.

Synopsis: What if Crane & Rachel had gotten stuck in the elevator on their way to the basement at Arkham?

Disclaimer: I hereby disavow any rights to any characters that do not belong to me. All I own is plot that was not in the movie.

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Rachel stared at Falcone through the thick glass and tapped her foot impatiently. She was infuriated; that little weasel Crane had simply gone down to Gotham County Jail and declared Carmine Falcone to be insane. He was now incarcerated under the watchful eye of Dr. Jonathan Crane, Gotham's resident psycho-magician; it seemed to Rachel that he could merely wave his hands, mutter incomprehensible psychoanalytical crap and then, in the blink of an eye, someone was insane. There had to be a reason why he was so eager to add to his brood of patients and Rachel was intent on finding out why tonight.

"Scarecrow…………scarecrow……..scarecrowwww," Falcone muttered as his head twitched weakly from side to side and his blank eyes focused ahead at something invisible in the air. Rachel was stunned to see him in his current condition. It was bewildering to behold one of Gotham City's top crime lords as he was now, reduced to a helpless, insignificant figure in an orange jumpsuit with no power.

"Right down here, Dr. Crane," a voice down the hallway caused Rachel to turn her head. Dr. Crane came around a corner and walked down to where she stood, putting on his glasses as he did so. She abruptly felt a twinge in her lower back.

_Oh God, not now,_ she thought.

She turned toward him as he cocked his head and regarded her with a critical look. "Ms. Dawes," he said in his usual business- like tone, "this is...most irregular. I have nothing further to add to the report I filed with the judge."

"I have questions about your report," she replied defiantly with her jaw set. He was _definitely_ going to be trouble and she suddenly felt irritated and lethargic. She knew why and she hoped that she could finish this unpleasant matter as quickly as possible. Her back gave yet another twinge.

"Such as?" he smoothly inquired, unperturbed by her hostile manner.

"Isn't it convenient for a 52 year-old man with no history of mental illness to suddenly be declared insane just when he's about to be indicted?" She glared at him through the dim lights.

"As you can see, there is nothing _convenient_ about his symptoms." He returned her stare with his own icy gaze.

"What's 'scarecrow'?" she asked and immediately regretted it. Without delay he launched into yet another one of his unbearable speeches about the human psyche.

"Patients suffering from delusional episodes often focus their paranoia on an external tormenter, usually one conforming to Jungian archetypes; in this case, a scarecrow," he informed her in his characteristically superior manner.

Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. She felt slightly nauseous. _Why does this have to happen _now? She took a deep breath, hoping to ignore the impending feeling of sickness in her stomach. "He's drugged?"

"Psychopharmacology is my primary field. I'm a strong advocate. Outside he was a giant; in here only the mind can grant you power." Hopefully, the abstract rant would make her relent, at least for the night, as Crane had many things to do and she was beginning to get on his nerves. She had the most amazing knack for annoying him like no one else.

"You enjoy the reversal," she said ponderingly, furrowing her brow.

"I respect the mind's power over the body. It's why I do what I do." _Isn't she going to leave?_

"I do what I do to keep thugs like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy," she told him with a frosty glare and stalked past him towards the elevator.

Crane turned and followed her down the hallway. She simply did not know when to stop; in a way he admired her persistence, but tonight it would not serve her well. Now she was babbling something about wanting her own medical assessment of Falcone. He felt certain that he could mislead the authorities about Falcone's true medical condition, but this would require a considerable effort, something for which he did not have the time. He was already behind on important tasks, so he would just take the easy way out and prevent Rachel from interfering. Yes, that was the only way; his head was vaguely starting to buzz with a hideously recognizable voice that told him so. He came up beside her.

"First thing tomorrow, then," he said. Although he should have been clear on what he had to do, for some reason he could not identify he felt...what, confusion? Unease? That was reasonable; the past few weeks had been very hectic and it seemed as if he and Dawes had constantly been at each other's throats. Or more precisely, _she_ had been at _his_ throat; he had no problem with her but she simply would not let him be. It was something more than that, though, a feeling he could not pinpoint. Perhaps a little regret? _The little nag is starting to grow on me, _he realized.

"Tonight," she informed him and stepped into the elevator.

"As you wish," he replied listlessly and followed her.

Rachel shot him an annoyed glance as the doors of the elevator closed. 'As you wish?'... 'Most irregular?' 'I would have hardly' this and 'I would have hardly' that? What the hell was up with his Victorian- era speech? Rachel had observed him speaking to other people, particularly females, and whilst he maintained his no- nonsense tone he certainly didn't use the patronizing one he used with her. It was almost as if he were mocking her, as if he thought that she was to be treated in only the most delicate manner. Did he think she was a spoilt brat? He should know that she had a humble upbringing, just as his. He probably considered her to be stupid since she was a _female_ and he was the all- knowing _male_. He was such an ass. As the elevator slowly began to move Rachel reflected that she would have liked to smack him upside the head, just to see anything but the amused, calculating expression he usually wore. She took another deep breath and tried to calm herself; this was not the time or place to throw a tantrum. She shifted uncomfortably as she became aware of a dull throb in her lower back area. She wondered why he had used his key in the elevator; secure access was only required for the maximum security wards, as far as she knew.

"Where are we going?" she asked him, trying to ignore the pain which was steadily coursing its way through her body.

"Well, we're going to deal with Mr. Falcone's latest medical debacle, just as you asked," he replied in a slightly amused tone.

Rachel sighed. The way she was feeling now, she was tempted to tell him that it could wait until the morning but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of having his way _again_. She hoped Dr. Lehman would hurry so she could go back to her apartment; she would just finish her paperwork there. Suddenly, there was an ominous creaking sound from above their heads. She looked upwards in alarm. It sounded as if it was coming from the elevator shafts above, but then there came a thumping that seemed to be coming from all around them. The elevator jerked slightly and Rachel swiftly looked at Crane, immediately suspicious, but he was also looking up, his brow furrowed.

"What--," she began before the carriage gave a rapid shake, causing both to brace themselves against its walls with their hands. There was a distant thud and the elevator came to an abrupt halt with a grind. "What's going on?" She did not try to keep the panic out of her voice; she did_ not_ want to be stuck in an elevator at Arkham Asylum with Jonathan Crane, especially _now_. She looked at the panel of numbers to the side where he stood and saw that whilst a red light illuminated the button he had pressed (it was marked as 'B' so Rachel guessed this was the basement), the ones marked as 'G' and '1' were blinking rapidly.

"We've stopped, though I don't know why," he said with impatience as he removed his keys from the slot on the panel. He stretched upwards and inserted a small grey key into a seemingly invisible niche. Rachel watched with astonishment as a rectangular area from the wall swung open to reveal a small black handset and a series of buttons set inside a compartment. He removed the handset, positioned it to his left ear and pressed two buttons.

"Yes, this is Dr. Crane. I'm in the 1A elevator with Ms. Dawes; it stopped suddenly and it appears the emergency shutdown has gone into effect." Rachel noticed that the red lights on the panel had abruptly disappeared and all the keys were dark grey. He paused and his eyes swept slowly across the wall as he listened to the voice at the other end.

"Yes, I'm aware of that but that's on the other side of the building." There was another lengthy pause. He looked annoyed. "Well, perhaps you could send someone down here to pry the doors open while we're waiting. Thank you." He replaced the receiver and closed the cubicle. Rachel looked at him intently.

"The elevators on the south side are being refurbished. Apparently one of the new circuits they installed malfunctioned. The emergency system automatically shuts down when that happens to prevent accidents," he told her.

"Are we stuck here for long?" she wanted to know. A slow, steady pain was making itself known across her lower back and starting to spread. She would need to get to a bathroom soon if it was what she thought it was.

"I asked the guards on duty to call the maintenance. They'll be here shortly to see if they can get the doors open so we won't have to wait."

Gone was the aggressive tone from both their voices; hers sounded anxious and his, somewhat preoccupied. They stood silent, both looking at the double doors as if willing them to open.

Crane could not dispel the sudden disenchantment that seemed to come over him; he felt as if he had forgotten something of utmost importance. He tried to recall the major tasks he had completed over the past few weeks; nothing seemed unsatisfactory, he had personally made the toxin himself and its' perfection was attested to by Falcone and that disturbed clown who dressed himself up as a bat. Yet a feeling of disquiet and foreboding lingered in the back of his mind, coupled to one of irritation at this disruption in his plans for Dawes. How was he supposed to deal with her now? Maybe, if he was lucky, she would be too tired by the time this was over to bother with Falcone tonight. That would give him sufficient time to resolve this latest snag in his plans. Besides, he really just wanted to be alone to sort out his thoughts. He cast a sideways glance at her; she appeared to be aggravated…………..

Rachel's trepidation was at its peak level even though she tried to calm herself. _Everything's going to be fine, _she convinced herself. When the doors opened she would excuse herself and go to the bathroom. After she was in a more comfortable disposition she would call Dr. Lehman and order him to get his fat ass down here as cordially as she could manage in her current condition. They would get Falcone's blood sample and anything else they required. If Crane objected she would merely tell him to shove it; she was no longer in the mood for anyone's crap. Finally, she would head back to her apartment.

However, the pain was now becoming distracting; she lightly rested the palm of her right hand on the side wall and shifted her weight to her right side in an attempt to ease the sharp jolts of agony that was now shooting through from her back to her pelvis. _Just take slow, deep breaths and try to ignore it, _she told herself. The steady pulses did not recede and she knew she could hide it only so long before Crane noticed her behaviour. She cringed at the thought of having to explain to him what was wrong. She opened her purse and rummaged through its' contents, all the while trying to keep her laboured breathing as inconspicuous as possible. There was her small bottled water……but no clear plastic packet with her pills. She had forgotten to transfer a few from its' blue bottle in her black purse, as she customarily did. She would just have to bear with this anguish for a time and hope that it would dissipate.

Distant footsteps coming from outside the elevator caused them both to look up. They grew closer and stopped outside the doors. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?" a voice asked from outside.

"Mr. Grierson?" Crane called out.

"Yes, Dr. Crane, it's me. I'm sorry to tell you this, but the maintenance people say it's gonna take them a half hour to get here and at least another half hour to repair the circuit. They also say that all the elevators are connected by the new emergency system they installed. When the circuit blew in the elevator on the south side the doors sealed shut. It won't open until the circuit's repaired so that goes for all the other elevators. I guess you're stuck in there for awhile." The man sounded apologetic.

Crane sighed in frustration; tonight's plans would definitely have to be put on hold. What was probably worse was that he was stuck in here with Rachel, who would undoubtedly use this opportunity, as sure as the sun would rise in the morning, to interrogate and critique him on anything her heart desired. This was _not_ going to be fun.

"Alright, thank you." Crane briefly wondered if he could climb through the air vents, just to escape her imminent cross- examination.

Grierson started to walk away then hesitated as he remembered that Crane was not alone. "Miss? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Rachel answered, hoping she sounded normal. Crane thought her voice sounded a little strangled. He looked at her curiously but her head was bent in such a way that her hair covered the side of her face and Crane could not get a read on her.

_Probably thinking of where to begin, _he thought wearily, and turned his head to continue staring gloomily at the elevator doors. He heard the security guard's footsteps grow distant until they were alone once again. He waited for the sound of the voice he had come to dread over the course of the past few weeks, but there was only stillness. _Thank God for small favours……………_

Rachel tried to quell the rising panic that threatened to break down her external composure. She would have to wait here for at least _an hour_ in this less- than- favourable state. _Maybe it won't come for about an hour or so,_ she tried to comfort herself as best as she could with the roaring cramps she was experiencing. Then she felt a small, but distinct warmth in the lower part of her body. She concentrated on remembering if she had………no, she hadn't. She had intended to put one on just for safety, as she usually did when she was expecting it, but her anger at Crane had caused her to stalk out of Bruce's mansion without remembering to use the bathroom. After all the years in junior and senior high school worrying every month that something like this would happen, it finally had, when she was a grown woman. And of course Jonathan Crane had to be stuck here with her. Still, it could be worse; he wasn't like many of the boys she had known during her high school years whose behaviour had caused to closely guard the private aspects of her femininity. There would be no snide remarks from him even if he guessed what was going on, but Rachel had no intention of showing any weakness. She didn't want to give him the impression that she had relented. She still had a job to do. The entire situation was bizarre. It wasn't so bad, though; it would start lightly as it always did. She figured she had at least an hour before she was really in trouble. That left her to contend with the excruciating cramps. She decided to obtain more details from Crane on what had happened to Falcone; that would keep her occupied. This time, he had nowhere to go, so he would have no choice but to say _something_. She turned to him.

He saw her from the corner of his eye. He braced himself. _Oh, Lord, here we go………… _

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Author's Note: Sorry about the long, rambling chapter with little dialogue (& possible typos & grammatical errors). I did this relatively quickly; when I do start to write, I write _a lot_. That's why I'll continue this in another chapter even though it was originally intended to be a oneshot. I have much more to write, including more dialogue between Crane & Rachel as well as a funny appearance by Batman.

I appreciate reviews. Thanks for reading.

FalconHorror


	2. Chapter 2: Little Misunderstandings

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Stuck in the Elevator

_Little Misunderstandings_

Firstly, I want to thank all those who took the time to read as well as emptyvoices and royalty09 for reviewing my first chapter. I'm really interested in the perspectives of the readers.

This chapter details interaction between Crane & Rachel. The Batman makes a cameo, but not in the way you might think. The plot continues to borrow from the movie, with my own input of course.

Disclaimer: Again, only original plot is mine; the rest belongs to some people who I don't know.

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Crane saw Rachel turn towards him but decided to ignore her until he was absolutely _forced_ to say something. Even then, he would articulate the most conceptual of words and if necessary, psychological jargon he knew she would not understand, as he had done at the courthouse that day. She had been more than a little displeased at his testimony over Victor Zsaz, but he had cleverly managed to leave her with a bewildered expression that he had thoroughly enjoyed. So he continued to stare ahead as if something fascinating had caught his attention. 

"Would you mind telling me exactly how Falcone went from a perfectly sane criminal to being barely coherent and on suicide watch? It seems a little sudden." The small confinement of the elevator prevented her voice from being carried and its' tenor was painfully amplified; she was aware that she sounded strained. As soon as she had started to speak Crane's transparent eyes had glided sideways and observed her from the corner of his glasses but he had otherwise remained motionless. He now turned his head to survey her for a few seconds before casually repositioning his entire body to face her as he folded his arms in one smooth gesture. A casual observer might have thought of his body language as somewhat alluring, but in the shaded lights and claustrophobic interior of the elevator Rachel found it to be disconcerting. _It's just because you're a bit woozy, _she reassured herself. _I've never been intimidated by him, I'm not going to be now. Besides, he looks tired and he's got nowhere to go. Unless he decides to crawl through the air vents, _she thoughtwryly. She wouldn't put it past him.

Crane _was_ feeling drained, but not so much so that he failed to notice Rachel's appearance. Although she had spoken in a stern manner, her firm words were belied by a pale, sickly look on her delicate face and her voice had sounded just a tad breathless. He bestowed her with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his glacial eyes.

"Sanity is never perfect, Ms. Dawes. You might assume that a crime lord with as much power as Mr. Falcone would be invincible. His supremacy was a mere illusion, a fact that I suspect he realised all too well when he was caught. No one knew what was transpiring in his mind." He paused thoughtfully and gave a shrug before continuing. "I myself was surprised when I heard that he'd attempted suicide. The mind is a strange thing, you know; it plays tricks on you all the time," he finished with a soft, rather suggestive tone.

Rachel gaped at him; she couldn't help herself. Just what the _hell _was he trying to do? He honestly believed that he could throw her off with his insignificant blather and maddening, stoic expressions. He had done the same thing that day, when she had confronted him after Zsaz' trial. His ambiguous answer and blatant refusal to cooperate had frustrated her. What had confused her, though, was the way he had spoken to her. She had demanded an explanation from him, pointing out that he had already testified on behalf of _three_ of Falcone's thugs. When he had finished babbling some crap about insane people being attracted to organized crime, she had bluntly called him corrupt. Then, he had done a strange thing. They had both been staring at each other in the eyes, she challenging him and him wanting to intimidate her. He had moved nearer to her so that their faces were dangerously close, all the while maintaining eye contact. She had been undaunted and continued to stare at him, waiting.

_You assume that my actions help these criminals, _he had whispered, so close that she had felt his breath on her face. _Don't. I don't think that you'll understand, so I'll just say that if you truly appreciated what these people do you might thank me. _As he had murmured the last four words he had dropped his frosty eyes to stare, ever so briefly, at her lips, which were slightly parted from shock. Then he had turned and she had felt his hair brush against her cheek as he had walked away. She had managed to recover and follow him but he had seen fit to deliver some choice words to Carl before stalking out of the courthouse. He probably _thought_ he was scary, but he certainly didn't scare _her_. She didn't know precisely what he had meant by that, if it was a threat or just more of his pointless jabbering. Despite many days, even weeks of research and investigation, she had been unable to uncover any suspicious activities his part, other than his insistence that Falcone's goons were all insane. She had been exasperated as to why he was behaving in such a way and although she would not admit it to herself, she was reluctant to believe that he had been bought off by Falcone. It just didn't seem like the quietly eccentric boy she had known in high school. She realized that this was a foolish assessment. He had plenty of reasons to be troubled, she knew. But his brief marriage and high school experiences were personal problems and Rachel didn't know how that was related, if at all, to anything he might be doing now, providing he had actually _done_ something illegal. He had not, in any of their past altercations, offered a hint of justification for his actions and apparently that was not going to change anytime soon.

The deep, sweeping pulses of pain were now too difficult to ignore and Rachel simply had neither the material nor mental capacity to argue with him. The frigid atmosphere of the elevator was doing nothing to soothe her cramps; what she needed was warmth. She leant over and casually placed her brown handbag on the floor and draped her coat over it, not bothering if they got dirty.

"Well, we'll soon know what's _really _wrong with Falcone so he can be where he actually belongs," was all she could manage. She gingerly stooped down and, being careful to arrange her skirt around her boots so that she wouldn't sit on it, squatted with her legs together, balancing on her feet. She wanted to sit but couldn't risk it, even though her skirt was dark- coloured. Rachel was painfully aware that Crane was observing her, but she was past caring about maintaining appearances. She encircled her arms around her the front of her legs and hugged herself, hoping the ease in her position would convince her tight muscles to relax. She rested her chin on the top of her knees and let out a shuddering breath.

"Something wrong?" He sounded mildly curious, but Rachel did not notice. Crane was once again struck by that peculiar feeling of presentiment. Rachel's sudden change in countenance from when they were in the hallway should have left him elated, but it only added to his anxiety. So even venomous shrews had sick days, it seemed. He frowned in thought as he studied her; she really did look ill. He was unsure of what he should do, as he knew she would view any concern on his part as suspicious. He removed his glasses and hid them in the front pocket of his suit jacket as he tried to clear his mind. Rachel was ill, but he had something to do. What? He ran a hand through his hair, perplexed.

"No," she said without looking up from her position, jolting him from his disorganized deliberations. He gazed down at her, pondering. He should probably find out what was wrong with her.

"You look ill. Are you claustrophobic?" he asked distractedly.

Rachel was fuming; of course he had to turn this into a psychoanalysis session. He probably knew what was wrong and was just torturing her to pass the time. She didn't have to look at him to detect the mocking tone in his voice. Her hand itched to slap him but she knew that that would have to wait for later. "No," she managed to articulate through gritted teeth. She really could say no more than that.

Crane had expected her to be obstinate and decline his offer for help. She seldom let sickness interfere with her work, something he had known about her from since high school. He recalled her refusing to go home and miss her classes unless it was extremely urgent. A vague memory suddenly came to him as he gazed at her. They had both stayed back late that day and they were waiting for the rain to stop. He had come upon her in what seemed to be severe pain. He had been kind to her that day, he remembered. _But that was before she'd become a meddling bitch, _he amended. She most likely would not recall that little incident, as she seemed only to focus on his deeds with which she was displeased. He frowned again and violently shoved the memory from his head. He abhorred any recollections from high school, even the pleasant ones, as few as they were.

"Are you sure? You look as if you're in pain," he said almost without thinking. He concentrated on evoking what had been his plans before they had gotten stuck.

God, he was relentless. Why didn't he just come out and say it. He was doubtless trying to get her to admit it so he would get the chance to play the perfect gentleman and pretend to help her. Whilst she was unable to give him a sound tongue- lashing at the moment, she refused to comply with his bullshit. She wasn't going to explain anything to him. Well, maybe she would say something to justify her behaviour, something that might persuade him to shut his trap.

Crane had intended to spend a few hours in his lab that evening before Rachel had insisted on meeting with him. He was about to put the finishing touches on an improved formula. As they were speaking he had decided on testing the old version on her, at the insistence of his old and unwanted but ubiquitous friend, whose whispers were lately becoming more and more unbearable. Then they had gotten stuck in this damned elevator, so he couldn't very well gas her in here. He had the mask in pocket and a full canister but it was a closed space and they were stuck in here for awhile; it would appear strange when— _Oh shit!!_ His azure eyes widened as it hit him full force: that simple, seemingly obvious little matter that had somehow managed to elude him all these weeks. Only now, when he had been forced to remain at a standstill both physically and mentally, had his subconscious backtracked and revealed to him his shocking error. He was moved to reach out and touch the wall with one hand, as if for support, and clutch at his hair with the other in an almost comically distraught gesture, as if he were the doomed knight in some tragic love story. How could he have been so stupid? He struggled to come to terms with what might very well be a fatal blunder on his part if it was not soon rectified. First, he had to calm himself; he could do nothing about it while he was in here. Already, his mind was beginning to outline the new plans; his priorities had been rapidly rearranged.

"It's umm……food poisoning," he heard Rachel say in a muffled voice.

"Food poisoning," he said slowly, as the words were new to him. He was still shaken from his recent revelation and he had momentarily forgotten his last train of conversation with her.

Rachel sucked in her breath in anger as well as pain. He was being a regal dick; he either knew exactly what was going on or was enjoying her display of weakness and wanted to prolong her discomfort by making her tell him what was wrong. She lifted her head and prepared to ignore the pain for a minute so that she could give him a little something to put in his pipe and smoke…………………

_Meanwhile, somewhere outside of Arkham………………_

A figure clad in black from head to toe stood in the north grounds at Arkham. The smooth, black leather outlined a sinewy shape that could only belong to a man. He was pacing restlessly across the manicured lawn, silently filled with coiled tension, like a predatory cat. When he came to stand below a window on the first floor, not too far away from where Crane and Rachel were stranded, he paused dramatically and looked up, his sleek black cape billowing out behind him in the cold night wind. He was the Batman, and he was royally pissed.

He had been filled with premonition and sick dread as he had followed Rachel from his mansion to the asylum in The Narrows. Everything he had been denying for the past couple of weeks could no longer be ignored, not after what he had seen tonight. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but in the end he had a job to do so he would force himself to put aside his personal feelings—as best as he could try—and do what was necessary. At present, however, he was filled with seething rage coupled with astounding disbelief. He hadn't expected his suspicions to come to fruition; it left him with a sick and bewildering feeling in his stomach. Initially, he had told himself that he was just being a bit paranoid, a side effect of the intense training he had received; after all, he had been taught to mind his surroundings, to detect the slightest hint of unrest. When he came back to Gotham he had anticipated the worst, but this was just ridiculous. It was beyond any reason or logic that he could comprehend.

He had first noticed the signs that day at the courthouse, but had persuaded himself that he was being unreasonable, that he didn't have sufficient evidence to support such an outlandish theory. But after that night at the restaurant, after he had visited her office that day, after she had so hastily left his mansion that evening, her distant behaviour, he knew that he had been right. He accepted that she had changed in all the years he had been away; apparently she had changed more than he realized. This had been the final nail in the coffin; what he'd witnessed tonight and everything else clarified what he had not been willing to accept but what was undeniably true.

Rachel was having an affair with Dr. Crane.

It was crazy, but true. He smiled bitterly as he thought of how pleased Ducard would be at his astuteness. She was up there now, not discussing Falcone as was supposedly her excuse for being there, but assorting with that low- life Crane. He had given her the benefit of a doubt even after all he had detected, but she had not yet left the building. He was not one to jump to conclusions, but what else could be keeping her for so long? She had forgone any opportunity to rekindle anything they might have by skipping his party to come here for a romantic rendezvous with this criminal, who, for reasons beyond that which Bruce could grasp, had somehow captured her affections. She was smitten with him; it was obvious despite her efforts to conceal it. As he'd gradually come to the realization that she might have feelings for Crane he had been jealous; it was easy to admit it to himself. He had tried to rationalize her behaviour, telling himself that she had developed some sort of kinship with him, just a friendship to cope with the increasing dismal situation in Gotham. After all, they had known each other when they were teenagers. But did she know that Crane was contributing to Gotham's downfall, as he had found out so arduously a mere two days ago? He had confessed to himself that he was somewhat glad that Crane was involved with Falcone; it gave Bruce a legitimate reason to dislike him and condemn their relationship. He knew that whilst Rachel was aware of and probably disapproved of his penchant for labelling criminals as insane, she had no idea about his twisted hobbies. If she did she wouldn't have continued with their liaison.

The Batman resumed his tireless strides, fuming as he recalled the scenes that had led him to uncover this fiasco. He had been outside the courthouse the very first time. He had only caught glimpses as he couldn't risk staring into the building without drawing unwanted attention. There was police around and he had been dressed as a bum. The little he had seen, however, was what had initiated his misgivings: Crane standing alarmingly close to Rachel and then giving her a fleeting kiss. When he had turned back, from what he could gather by straining to read Crane's lips, he had been telling Finch to mind his own business, if he had any. When he had walked away apparently Finch had confronted Rachel; he hadn't caught what she had said but she'd clearly been angry that Finch was interfering. His last look told him that Rachel was trying to pacify Finch by offering him a small kiss on the cheek. Bruce guessed that Finch had a thing for her and she was trying to let him down gently. Then at the restaurant when he had spoken to her the first time since coming back, she hadn't been as receptive as he'd hoped she would be. She had kept stealing glances behind his back. When she had walked away and he'd turned to look, he had seen Crane through the glass window of the pharmacy across the street. Then he had gone to her office last week to visit her, but she hadn't been there so he had asked the law intern when she was coming back. As the young girl was consulting the secretary he'd overheard her say that Rachel hadn't been in for the morning and that Dr. Crane had called for her. When he'd gone to her apartment she wasn't there.

Then there was that little conversation tonight. She had seemed angry when she was told that Crane had moved Falcone to Arkham, and Bruce didn't think she was faking. She had been eager to get to Arkham, he had noticed, and she had left looking somewhat distressed. Even though his earpiece was not working properly and static had disrupted most of what was exchanged between them, he heard enough. Her back was all he could see, but Crane had appeared sorrowful. Between spurts of noise he had picked up Crane saying "—you can see" and Rachel, "—you enjoy..." before both were cut off. Both of them had said "I do" in soft voices and after some indistinct murmuring Rachel had clearly said "tonight". He had seen Crane look at her possessively before they had gone into the elevator. Then he had climbed back down to deal with the shock. She had asked her sweetheart for a favour regarding Falcone because of her job and he had undoubtedly complied. Bruce was enraged beyond belief. Just what did Rachel see in Crane anyhow? So he was a smart doctor, but was abusing his power and knowledge. He sure wasn't much to look at, Bruce thought, even though Rachel wasn't the superficial type. He was whiter than a stork's ass and he had a face like a gargoyle with a clown's greasepaint. He probably smiled twice a year, or every time he gassed one of his patients. He was obviously disturbed and apparently had a fetish for recycling his Irish Potato bags. Seriously, what grown man wore a burlap sack on his face to scare people? Did he have _any idea _justhow preposterous he looked? Probably not. Bruce supposed he had taken special care to actually stitch the mouthpiece and the eyeholes in their proper place so that he would look like a _real _scarecrow. Bruce paused to swipe away extra eyeliner he had used to colour his face where his mask failed to cover. He gritted his teeth; his irritation with the whole situation had reached exorbitant levels. He just could not process the fact that Rachel, _his_ Rachel, was truly attracted to that sallow, slimy cretin. Regardless of that fact, he was going to deal with Crane, such that when he was finished scarecrook would need to wear his brown diaper bag 24/ 7.

He sighed with determination as he walked towards the asylum; he knew what he had to do.

* * *

A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed this one. There's just one more chapter to go, where Crane and Rachel have a final tête-à-tête before they leave the elevator and Batman gets himself involved in things. 

Once again, reviews are welcome.

FalconHorror.


	3. Chapter 3: Tea

_**Stuck in the Elevator **_

_Tea_

Well, this is the final chapter. Sorry for the late update. I would have gotten this up sooner but I had lots of exams last week & I needed the weekend to recuperate. I hoped everyone who read the first two enjoyed the story thus far.

Disclaimer: As in previous chapters.

* * *

Rachel looked up and was about to open her mouth to tell Crane to shut the hell up but she paused, surprised. What was wrong with him? She vaguely noticed that he had taken off his glasses but what puzzled her was the look on his face. His hair was in a disorder and he appeared to be in a major state of distress. He was wide- eyed and tight- jawed. He looked as if he had just discovered something appalling. It was such a contrast from the way in which Rachel was accustomed to seeing him that her anger was momentarily replaced with bewilderment. She briefly wondered if he was trying to scare her. It would certainly be a good time, what with their being stuck in a spooky elevator and her suffering from the most painful cramps she'd experienced since high school. She could see no reason why he would, it seemed rather immature of him, but really she was in no state of mind to analyze. Her main concern was getting out with a clean skirt.

"What's wrong with you?" she managed to croak.

"Oh……nothing……I just remembered that I left an experiment running in my lab," he responded mildly. He scratched his chin distractedly and regarded her. "Are _you _alright?"

Rachel only nodded, afraid that if she opened her mouth that an agonizing groan would emit. She buried her head back to its' previous spot on her knees, not before Crane saw her face contort in pain.

He hesitated, then walked to her side and squatted, balancing on his heels and toes. He studied her immobile form and deliberated on what he should say.

Rachel had heard him crouch beside her and braced herself for another round of his systematic probing. She reflected that she would probably look upon the entire situation one day and laugh, but the thought did not console her. It felt as if hot lead blocks were steadily pounding on the inside of her lower back and pelvis. The pain was unrelenting. She opened her mouth and breathed slowly, hoping to distract herself. An awkward feeling of déjà vu came over her as she recalled a day, long ago, not dissimilar to her current misfortune when Jonathan Crane had also been present. She weakly pushed it away; it wouldn't do her any good now to think of that.

"What did you eat?" Crane voice was uncomfortably close and Rachel fought not to squirm. Regardless of the pain she refused to be pacified and reminded herself that she owed him a good scolding before the night was over.

"Uhh……salmon……Keta Salmon," was all she could muster. She made a mental note to never again buy Keta Salmon; she and Crane frequented the same supermarket.

"Tinned?" he asked.

She nodded again.

He frowned, thinking. He ate Keta Salmon all the time and he'd never gotten food poisoning. That was rare, unless it had expired, but tinned foods had a long shelf life. It occurred to him that Rachel often suffered from food poisoning. He vaguely recalled it being her excuse for going home early one day from school, she had cancelled her appointment with him to discuss a case last month because of it and now she'd been struck with another bout.

Crane gazed at the floor reflectively for a few seconds before speaking.

"Well, since you're ill you can just--"

"No." Her head remained bent and her voice was muffled, but he heard the unmistakable tone of her trademark stubbornness. He sighed.

"You can barely stand, but if you insist. Just as long as you don't blame me when you collapse," he said lightly. "I assure you, Mr. Falcone isn't going anywhere anytime soon."

"It looks suspicious!" she spat out vehemently, raising her head slightly.

"What does?" he inquired innocently, cocking his head in her direction.

"You!" She now turned towards him and her face was twisted with anger as well as pain. A few strands of dark hair were plastered to her forehead and she looked deathly pale.

Crane couldn't help but muse that she was incredibly resilient. "Me?" He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Yes, you! You……made him insane. Don't think it isn't obvious," she said hotly.

"Made him insane?" he repeated. "Of course I didn't. What gave you that idea?" He sounded offended.

"Oh...yes, I know you did."

"No, I di—"

"Yeah, you did," she cut him off, sounding cross. She took a deep breath and paused, grimacing. "And...do you know what your actions suggest?" This wasn't the manner in which she imagined confronting him about his shady behaviour, but it was a perfect opportunity; if only she could ignore the pain for a little longer.

"What?" He leaned forward, his brows furrowed slightly, and stared at her intensely. A lock of his black hair fell forward and partially obstructed his blue gaze. He reminded Rachel of a gruesome movie she had seen recently, _Beyond the Wall of Sleep_. He definitely filled the requirement of an eccentric H.P. Lovecraft scientist.

_Lovely. That's just what I need to think about; blood, guts and Crane._

"They suggest...that you worked for Falcone. You did him favours and since he was caught you had to make certain that he would keep his mouth shut." She looked at him for a response. He appeared unimpressed.

"And…_why_ would I need to do favours for Gotham's former premier crime lord?"

"I…don't know, but that's what it looks like." She sighed loudly. "I don't have to tell you that you'll be in a lot of trouble if any of this is true."

"_If_ it's true? But you just said it was," he said, his gaze unwavering and unblinking, his voice taunting.

"Well, why don't you tell me if it is," she challenged him. He looked at her, analyzing her with his penetrating stare. That day at the courtroom suddenly flashed before her, and she remembered his unnatural closeness. They were close again, but now they were alone.

"Would you rather these criminals serve their sentences in jail, however long, and then emerge in perhaps a more dangerous state of mind? What do think they'll be capable of then?" When she didn't answer he continued. "I'm simply attempting to find the possible sources of their tendencies, what harbours and breeds their compulsive behaviour. If necessary, for those who don't respond to rehabilitation, medical or even surgical measures can be taken to prevent relapse into criminal conduct. Does that sound suspicious or illogical to you?"

"No, but they've got to be punished and spending time at Arkham isn't the most effective way to do it," she replied, somewhat unsure of herself. This was the first time he had offered her anything close to a coherent, rational explanation. However, it didn't justify any of his testimonies and Rachel knew that his little oration was just another way to render her accusations as absurd.

"You're under the impression that Arkham is some kind of luxury resort; I assure you it's anything but. Patients in the maximum security ward receive significantly different treatment from regular patients." He hoped that this was sufficient to appease her; he was beginning to tire of her incessant pestering. He was amazed that she'd been able to maintain it for so long. She looked as if she was about to faint any minute.

"Some—something's still not right," she said feebly. She had by no means conceded, but she just wasn't able to persist with her questioning any further. She could feel bile churning in her stomach and she fought to keep it down.

"Well, when you find out what it is, you'll realize that I've done nothing wrong."

Rachel did not respond to this.

He paused, watching her fixedly. He cleared his throat. "That looks really bad. You should go to the hospital when you get out of here. It might be something serious." He wondered if she detected concern in his voice. Probably not; she had a tendency to think the worst of him. That was just as well, because he wasn't really concerned; he was confident that a spirited carper the likes of Rachel could endure plenty before requiring his sympathy. Crane always thought that there should have been a picture of her next to the word 'frigid' in the dictionary. This was the first time in years that he'd seen her display such a range of emotions in so little time though, and it fascinated him.

Rachel bit her dry lips and desperately wished that she hadn't come to the asylum that night. She should have just waited for tomorrow; as Crane had said, it wasn't as if Falcone was going anywhere. She promised herself that she would call her gynaecologist and make an appointment for the next week. The same thing had happened to her last month. Luckily, she'd been in her apartment. She had called her secretary in the throes of severe pain and cancelled all her appointments for the day, blurting out the first excuse that had come to her mind: food poisoning. Then she had fairly danced in front of the kitchen counter as she groaned and moaned loudly, waiting for the water to boil so she could make herself some peppermint and ginger tea. Again, that vague memory came to her. She gasped loudly as a sudden bolt of searing pain pulled her already tender muscles tight. She clutched her stomach, all efforts to remain modest in front of Crane now long abandoned. She lost her balance and reached out to the wall of the elevator to steady herself. Suddenly, Rachel felt a strong hand on her arm, pulling her gently.

"Here, put your head down." Crane placed his arm around her shoulders and attempted to draw her towards himself.

Rachel shook her head back and forth. "I'll vomit on you," she said, her voice strangled.

"Don't be silly, Rachel," he replied in his usual dispassionate tone. "You'll pass out. Here." He put her arm over his shoulder. "Take the pressure off your stomach," he ordered in his doctor's voice. A wave of nausea passed over her and Rachel was powerless to refuse; with a groan she rested her head on his shoulder and leaned her weight on him. She squeezed her eyes shut. She barely noticed that he'd referred to her by her first name. She let out a shuddering breath and weakly placed her arm on his other shoulder.

"Breathe deeply," he ordered. She obeyed and the nausea that was rising in her throat slowly abated. They both remained motionless for a time, silent except for Rachel's occasional gasps, which she did her best to stifle.

"Do you remember Mrs. Fisher?" Crane asked suddenly. His voice was even and impassive.

Rachel opened her eyes in astonishment. "The English teacher?" Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. She felt him nod.

"Yes. She died recently. I went to the funeral."

Rachel was speechless. Mrs. Fisher had been their English teacher throughout high school. They both would stay back with her at times for essay practice. She recalled that even then they would engage in debate concerning the state of Gotham and the ways in which it could be improved. She had her suggestions of the justice of the law and he had his of…well, medical intervention and outrageous psychological techniques. It had been, she reflected, the setting for their future relationship as adults, only now they were on less friendly terms.

"Wait…you knew?"

"I found out the day of the funeral. I called your office but they said you hadn't come in that morning. They weren't able to contact you."

"Oh," was all she said. She felt dismal and depressed. That had been the day after she'd encountered Bruce at the restaurant, the first time she had spoken to him in seven years. She had been disappointed and confused after their conversation and needed some time to straighten out her thoughts. She had given him the opportunity to say something encouraging, but he hadn't made any sense. It was frustrating, and seeing Crane in the pharmacy had only reminded her of the troubles at work. She'd decided to take the morning off to clear her head. After she came back from her walk in the park she realized that she'd left her cell phone at home. She hadn't bothered to check her messages and the next day her secretary had only said that Crane had called. Various memories from her teenage years now filled her. Unexplainably, she began thinking of her ex- husband, John. She had met him in college and had married him shortly after graduation, after Bruce had left. Perhaps it was the pain or the abrupt news of death, but she forgot the person to whom she was clutching and drew closer, as if for comfort. She inhaled and smelled Irish Spring Soap. That memory came to her yet again; it was ironically close to her current predicament. She couldn't fight it, so she closed her eyes once more and let it come back…….

Crane felt Rachel's arms tighten around him and remained perfectly still. He concentrated on a spot in front of him on the wall, his face emotionless. He felt just a hint of discomfort that, not an hour ago, he'd been contemplating whether or not he should gas her with his toxin. He still hadn't made up his mind. He felt her nose brush against his neck and slowly rolled his eyes upwards to the elevator doors, silently hoping that when they opened there would be no one outside. This wasn't exactly an ideal position in which he wished to be viewed. He suspected that the pain was making her delirious. She was draped over him like a feather boa now, but soon she would be her usual pesky self. She moved and he felt her upper body press against him and her fingers touch his hair at the back of his neck. He licked his lips and went back to analyzing the spot on the wall. Bizarrely, he recalled an incident not too long ago, when he'd brought the first of Falcone's thugs to the asylum. She had been annoyed and had made a visit to discuss the case with him………

"_I fully understand your concern, Ms. Dawes, but you realize that a common criminal would at least attempt to hide the fact that he'd brutally raped ten women. Mr. Wells here," Crane gestured to a twitching young man who was being escorted to his cell, "made no such effort. In fact, he openly admits it as if it were his hobby. Surely you don't think he would be adequately treated in prison."_

"_He can get whatever therapy he requires from a prison psychiatrist," she retorted._

"_I'm afraid that would not be sufficient," was all he offered as they walked followed Wells into main hallway of the maximum security floor._

"_He has to serve time. You'll have to make an agreement with our office about the duration of his therapy. After that, he heads back to Gotham's Penitentiary Centre."_

"_I have no problem with that." Crane was certain that his therapy would not last much longer. He had given him a small but effective dose of his master creation. Its' effect could be cleverly accounted for by his electroshock sessions, which of course were needed for his violent outbursts. Crane knew the real reason for his sudden change in attitude and had successfully documented the effects. _

"_What's wrong with him?" Rachel asked, looking uneasily at the twitching, wide- eyed man._

"_Oh, we had to take measures to pacify him." _

_Without warning, the man suddenly swung his arm with surprising force and knocked over one of the orderlies. Crane and the other orderly moved swiftly to restrict him, but not before he moved towards Rachel, who had frozen, and gave her a hard shove. She toppled ungraciously over the back of the sofa behind her, causing her flared skirt to fly up over her head and giving Crane a generous view of everything that was underneath. _

_He stepped forward and pulled the babbling man away from her, pretending her legs weren't splayed a few inches from his face as if she was preparing to give birth. After they quickly injected Wells with a sedative, they heard a loud, hoarse voice._

"_Sin!" _

_All eyes looked towards an aged man, whose large, scared eyes were staring at Rachel from beneath a bald head that was tattooed with various religious symbols. He pointed a trembling finger at her._

"_Thou hast Satan's panties!" he rasped. "A sign of the Reckoning!"_

_His orderly, who had left him sitting on a chair to help subdue Wells, now went to him._

"_It's okay Herbert," he soothed, leading the distraught man away. "Let's go." Herbert turned and delivered one more warning to Rachel._

"_Repent for your sins! REPENT!"_

_Crane risked a sideways glance at Rachel, whose face could best be described as being a wild shade of fuchsia. It was only by biting his tongue hard that he was able to suppress a smirk. _

_Rachel was able to get through the rest of their meeting with a fair amount of dignity, although advice from her grandmother about always wearing a slip constantly rang in her ears._

_Crane spent the rest of the day with the acutely uncomfortable sensation that he had started out Monday morning with knowledge that Rachel Dawes, his former classmate and now Assistant D.A. of Gotham City, owned a pair of black, lace panties._

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Psst!" Batman peered into the semi- dark room as he called to its' occupant. He was in the north side of Arkham, on the first floor. After he had furtively infiltrated the asylum he had immediately sought out Scarecrook, but to no avail. He had looked on the ground and first floors as well as the basement, but they were nowhere to be found. Both their cars were in the parking lot. Frustrated, he decided to ask one of the patients on the first floor, where he had last seen them.

An elderly man's face appeared in the reinforced glass window in front of Batman. His unsteady eyes widened at the site of a black, pointed- ear, masked man hovering on the outside of his room. He opened his mouth slowly but Bruce quickly put a gloved finger to his lips.

"Shhh," he warned. "I just want to ask you a question. Do you think you can help me?" The man closed his mouth but continued to regard him with suspicion. Bruce noticed that the circumference of his head was covered in religious tattoos. He nodded.

"Good. Did you see Dr. Crane pass by here? He was with a pretty, young woman. Do you know where they went?" He patiently waited for the man to process his question and respond. After a couple of minutes recognition abruptly filled the man's dazed eyes and Batman eagerly leaned forward.

"Black panties," he whispered ecstatically. "Satan's panties. Pray for them, you must, demon creature. She came once again to seek forgiveness."

Bruce raised one eyebrow. "Right. Thanks." He turned and walked away, shaking his head in disgust. He would have expected that people would get their meds on time in a _freaking asylum_ of all places. Instead, they were left to fantasize about Hell and babble like Yoda. He halted as he heard the soft voices of security guards approaching. He quickly melted into the shadows of a side hall as they passed by.

"_Yeah,"_ he heard one of them say. _"We'll have to take the stairs though; the elevators are stuck. They're fixin' them now." _

They walked by and Bruce smiled grimly. So, they were stuck in the elevator, were they? How romantic. He hoped Scarecrook was enjoying his time with Rachel, because it would be his last. He would soon have only padded walls for company, and maybe his tweed sack if they took pity on him. He didn't deserve someone like Rachel. She would be devastated of course, but Bruce would be there to comfort her and soon stick-boy-with-a-lame-mask would be reduced to a bad memory.

He stalked determinedly towards the elevator, pounding a black, leathered fist into his hand. Scarecrook was about to get a scare of his own. It would be the scare of all scares.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Rachel sat on the cold, metal chair in the hallway, hunched over the backpack on her lap, chin resting on her arms. She was in pain. She didn't think it was possible for such pain to descend in such a short time. She hated when it came in the middle of a school day. She had stayed back that day to research a History paper in the library. She was almost finished when she'd been forced to abandon the task and relocate herself to the girls' bathroom as discreetly as possible. She now sat waiting for her mother amid ruthless cramps. _

"_Hey," a voice greeted her. She looked up. Jonathan Crane was standing there, the usual serious, thoughtful expression on his face. He frowned at the downpour of rain outside and sat down in a chair two seats away from her. _

"_Hi," she responded. She was one of the few people he habitually greeted, something she considered a privilege. As much as he annoyed her with his peculiar theories on the human mind, as much as he baffled her with his introverted behaviour, she had to admit he was the most mature male in her class. They sat in silence for some minutes. Rachel hoped he hadn't seen her pale, clammy face._

"_Are you ill?" he asked unexpectedly. Rachel turned her head slightly towards him; he was staring at the rain meditatively. _

"_Um, yeah, a little," she said, hoping she sounded normal. She prayed he wouldn't ask her what was wrong. He had an uncanny ability to make her uneasy with a few casual words. If he asked, she would tell him it was food poisoning. It was the best she could think of, given the circumstance. However, he didn't press the matter any further._

"_Would you like some tea?" _

_Rachel turned to him, stunned. Did he just offer to make her tea? When did a teenage boy offer to do that? Then again, Crane was no ordinary teenage boy. _

"_The cafeteria's still open." He finally turned to face her, startling her just a little with his steel blue eyes. "I could make you some."_

_She nodded. "Sure." _

_He stood up, placed his backpack on the seat and strode away. Rachel watched him go, her gaze involuntarily travelling from his dark hair down to his jeans and up again. She felt herself blush and buried her head in her duffel bag, embarrassed. _

_She had lately developed an affinity for males with whom she did not get along. Case in point: Bruce and just recently, Crane. However, Bruce attended a different high school and she saw Crane everyday. It had started shortly after they had begun to stay back for essay practice. She would occasionally speak to him when they stayed back in the library and they were in the same Math class. She convinced herself that it because he was so different. It was just a little crush; after all, she didn't actually think of ever asking him out. She didn't believe in conducting adult relationships in high school. She was simply attracted to him on a physical and intellectual level, as any serious- minded teenage girl would be. It was nothing more than that and she was sure it would soon dissipate. So she dealt with it by arguing with him anytime he said something to aggravate her. It mattered little that she thought he was good- looking; she wasn't blind. _

"_Here."_

_She raised her head. He was holding a steaming Styrofoam cup in his hand. He offered it to her. _

"_Thanks," she said, taking it and giving him a brief smile. He picked up his backpack and walked towards the door. The rain had calmed to a drizzle._

"_Will you be okay to get home?" he asked gravely._

_Rachel nodded. "My mom's picking me up." _

"_Alright, then. You should drink that before it gets cold," he advised her, and hastily strode down the steps and across the lawn._

_Rachel stole a last glance of him and took a sip of the golden- coloured liquid. It tasted of peppermint and ginger, with just a tinge of sweet. She usually hated ginger, but this was unlike anything she had ever tasted before. She drank it all and thought that she would ask him how he made it the next day………………………_

But she never did. She tried to make it herself but it never came out quite right. So now, after years of futile searching in stores for peppermint and ginger teabags, she contented herself with her own, albeit less tasty version. She shifted self- consciously as memory of her fondness for Crane surfaced in her mind. It was a blessing that she hadn't acted on it. That would have placed her in a very awkward situation now. Her ability to ignore naïve, teenage feelings proved that it had just been a trivial phase on her part. Even so, it was a tad mortifying that she had admiration for him when she so explicitly reproved him whenever she had the chance. Well, he deserved it to some extent; his arrogance knew no bounds, as evidenced by recent events. She was pleased that she had handled their encounters with the utmost professionalism. He was her former classmate and she regretted if he was involved in anything illegal, but she had sworn to bring justice to the city, and that's what she intended to do.

"Do you still want to continue with the medical assessment tonight?" Crane's amused voice shook her out of her pain- induced reminiscence. "I'm sure we have vomit bags somewhere in the lab."

Rachel had settled into a daze. She now opened her eyes and realized two things: the pain had diminished significantly, and she was hugging Crane with her nose buried in the side of his neck. His arms were resting lightly on her back, supporting her. She swallowed and slowly disengaged herself from his embrace. She still felt sore.

"Um…Dr. Lehman will take the blood. I'll come back tomorrow for everything else." Her earlier temper had been assuaged to some extent. Her body was no longer responding efficiently to her mind. Her eyes fluttered close and she put a hand up to her temple; she felt dizzy and a headache was beginning to form. She swayed and Crane grasped her shoulders, steadying her.

Her face was mere centimetres from his own and he scrutinized it as if she were a specimen. He couldn't remember if he had ever seen her look so vulnerable before. He put his arm around her back, his fingers coming to rest on the upper portion of her ribs at the front of her body. He paused to gauge her reaction. Rachel's head was on his shoulder again and apparently she didn't notice. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached up and with his other hand gently moved the hair from her face. He frowned thoughtfully as he examined her. She was undeniably sick; she never would have allowed herself to be groped and prodded by him otherwise. He absurdly wondered what would be her response if he were to kiss her. She would probably slap him, he assumed. Then she would demand to know why he had done that, to which he would reply that it seemed like a good idea because he never had before. Then she would slap him again.

Crane blinked and clenched his jaw, irritated. His watch told him that they had been stuck for fifty minutes. He hoped they didn't have to wait much longer. He was obviously bored and with Rachel in such a susceptible state he was starting to amuse himself in ways that were not appropriate.

A distant clang from above made them both look up. The carriage gave a rattling shake and began to move. A few seconds later the elevator stopped with a shudder.

"Finally," Rachel breathed. She gathered her things. Her face was devoid of all colour. Crane took her arm to help her stand. The doors slid open as she was fully upright and he turned towards the opening.

He barely had time to register that a dark figure had blocked his path before a large fist smashed into his face with astounding force. He hit the wall of the elevator and fell to the floor. He felt hot blood run down face from his nose and he vaguely heard Rachel's surprised gasp.

Rachel saw the Batman step inside the elevator and grasp Crane's neck with both his hands. He proceeded to shake him back and forth while Crane clawed at his hands and gasped for breath, his face bloody.

"Hey! What are you doing?! Stop that!" Rachel gaped at Batman, her pain and nausea temporarily forgotten. Had he gone mad? The first time she had seen him at the train, he appeared sane. He had tried to help her. Now his teeth were bared and he seemed struck with an uncontrollable rage. Why was he attacking Crane? Maybe he thought he was working for Falcone. She felt her anger surge at Crane; she'd told him he would get in trouble for his reckless behaviour. The Batman was a vigilante, and a disturbed one judging from his outfit. He would neither understand nor care for Crane's views on psychopharmacology.

Security guards came running around the corner. Suddenly Rachel heard Batman yell with pain and surprise. He'd let go of Crane, who was coughing as he picked himself up. A syringe was fully buried in Batman's cheek; Rachel could not see its' needle. Another was attached to the side of a nostril; it stuck out like an exclamation mark. She saw a trickle of blood run down from his nose.

"Hold it right there! Don't move!" The Batman ignored them, and with a whirl of his cape exited the elevator. The guards pursued him, but Rachel knew their efforts would be in vain.

Crane and Rachel stepped out into the hallway and watched as he jumped out of a window. She turned to him, still in shock.

"Are you okay?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"Never better," Crane answered in a slightly congested voice. He took the handkerchief that she offered him.

Rachel looked on anxiously as he wiped his face clean, dimly wondering if a broken nose would ruin his face. She sighed, annoyed at herself; there were more important things to think about than Crane's sculpted face. Some more guards ran past as Mr. Grierson walked up to them.

"We're securing the property, but he'll probably get away. He's got some sort of a tank vehicle," he informed Crane. He looked from Crane's bloodied nose to Rachel's pasty face. "Should I call the paramedics?"

"No, I don't think it's broken," Crane answered. "Do you need to be driven home?" he asked Rachel. She shook her head.

"Alright, then," Grierson said. "Oh, I almost forgot, Ms. Dawes. A Dr. Lehman called and said that he couldn't make it tonight. He had emergency surgery."

Rachel sighed inwardly. She wasn't surprised; everything had already gone bad that night. What was one more?

"Okay, thanks," she said colourlessly. He nodded and walked away. She turned to Crane. "Do you know why he attacked you?"

"I can only guess it had something to do with Falcone. I suppose he had the impression that I did him favours," he said meaningfully, looking at her.

"_I _never said anything to him, if that's you mean," she said, affronted. "I'm not in the habit of having Bat characters assist me with my work." Except when he had given her information on Judge Faden, she thought.

"If you say so. Are you coming tomorrow morning? I'll have to commence his therapy soon."

Rachel nodded and watched Crane walk back into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed she headed for the ladies bathroom on the ground floor.

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Crane resolutely walked back to his office, his mind racing. He could not rest until he accomplished that one little thing. He retrieved his papers that contained his research. A sense of urgency enveloped him. It was imperative that he get this done tonight, or the consequences would be detrimental. His encounter with the Batfreak only reinforced that point. Evidently he had experienced delayed effects of the toxin. He hurriedly strode to the door but paused as he glimpsed the kettle on the side table.

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"Ms. Dawes! How are you?"

The pleasant voice caused Rachel to turn around, her hand on the front door. She could not wait to vacate Arkham Asylum. She'd had more than enough tonight. She forced a smile at the elderly psychiatrist she recognized as Dr. Hamilton. She had seen him on her numerous visits to the asylum.

"Not too bad," she lied.

"Good," he said warmly. "Dr. Crane asked me to give you this." He held out a tall cup on a folded square of napkin. She took it, surprised.

"Thanks." She inhaled an old but familiar smell: peppermint and ginger tea. Crane had made it. She was too weary to ponder why; analyzing his behaviour required substantial mind power and alertness that she did not possess at the moment.

"You take care now," he said and walked away.

Rachel drank the tea as she slowly made her way to her car, relishing the taste of the warm, creamy liquid. She sat in her car and closed the door. As she wiped her mouth with the napkin she felt something solid under the soft tissue. After carefully placing the cup atop a book on the passenger seat she reached up and snapped on the interior car lights. She unfolded the napkin.

Inside lay two pills, slim and long with curved ends. Printed in deep blue letters on their white surface were the words, 'Midol MENSTRUAL'.

Rachel's eyes widened. She placed a hand on her mouth and looked back at the asylum. After a couple minutes of humiliating anger directed towards Crane, she popped the pills into her mouth and swallowed them with the last of her tea. Well, at least he had been subtle about it. As she drove home she vowed that she would have to get a better excuse than food poisoning to disguise her feminine problems.

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Crane sipped his tea as he watched Rachel's car drive out of the parking lot. He would not gas her. After all, she had been indirectly responsible for making him realize that he hadn't inoculated himself with the antidote to _his own toxin_. Unbeknown to Ra's al Ghul, he had tentatively made the antidote after he had generated the toxin. However, he hadn't thought to properly purify and test it; his papers on the formula had been locked away and it had completely slipped his mind.

As he set up the equipment in his laboratory he wondered if Rachel would be able to come back the next day; she had looked ghastly when she left him. He had no idea that menstruation affected women so badly.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, I've finally finished my first story. I think it's only fair to give a few thanks, as I never thought that the entire story would get more than five reviews.

Special thanks goes to Raz 42492 for inspiring me to finally start writing when she let me beta read her story, _Never Stare Fear in the Face. _

Thanks to emptyvoices, Royalty09, NeoSavvy, P'tfami, saphirefox-irl and Datura for their reviews & alerts.

Thanks to everyone who read; I really hope you enjoy this last chapter. Please let me know about any typos etc. Thanks for reading & reviewing my first story on Fanfiction.

Oh, if anyone's wondering, that tea is real; I didn't make it up. It's actually very good if you've got problems like Rachel. Even people who hate ginger will like it; it tastes really good. If anyone wants the recipe just PM me.

FalconHorror


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